


Nightshade

by VelvetEternity (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Forest Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 11:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15971723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/VelvetEternity
Summary: When Harry comes to the forest to die Voldemort is alone. (Obviously sex & feelings ensue?)





	Nightshade

**Title: Nightshade**

**Author: VelvetEternity**

* * *

Voldemort stands alone in the clearing, only a low burning fire to light the way to him. It's surprising to Harry, he had expected there to be hoards of death eaters to witness his death. In a way it is comforting to know that no one will see his humiliation. His defeat.

"I'm here." Harry calls out, stepping into the clearing. 

Voldemort startles but as he turns his wine red eyes on Harry he smiles. "Harry Potter." He speaks softly. "The boy who lived." He raises his wand, and Harry prepares himself. "Will you not defend yourself?"

Harry opens his eyes, then shakes his head. "I'm tired." The words slip out before he can stop them. "I came as you asked. Do what you wish, I don't care anymore."

Voldemort frowns, then puts away his wand. "I'm tired too." He confesses quietly. "This war never ends, and it will not end with your death."

It's shocking to see him so human, serpentine and monstrous to look at, but humbled and exhausted as Harry is. Harry doesn't speak. He doesn't know what to say. Voldemort sits down upon a fallen log, the pats the spot neat him.

"Sit." He says, more of a command than a request,  and Harry obliges him. "Rest. I'll not kill you yet. I've waited for your death long enough, what is another few minutes in the grand scheme of things."

Harry nods, grateful for the chance to catch his breath. "Why are you being so nice?"

"I don't want to fight." He tilts his head back breathing deeply, a puff of white air spirals overhead. "I'm tired of this war. Just rest for a bit, Harry Potter. Tell me your regrets?"

Harry feels the same, tired of the war and their fight. "I don't have any regrets, not big ones anyways." He answers. He leans back, mirroring Voldemort. "I never got to finish school. I can't name any of the constellations. I took the classes I had to put the least amount of work into. I'm going to die a virgin. Silly stuff like that, things that don't matter in the grand scheme of things."

When he looks over, Voldemort is giving him a strange look. Intense and soul baring, almost hungry. Harry opens his mouth to ask him about it, but Voldemort cuts him off. "Come here."

Harry hesitates, unsure, but stands up and walks so that he is standing in front of Voldemort. The dark lord stands too, and he towers over Harry, still looking at him with that strange expression. "Are you going to kill me now?" Harry whispers, unable to get his voice to come out louder.

"No." Voldemort brushes his hair from his face, and he swipes his sharp nailed finger across his lips. The expression suddenly makes so much more sense. Harry trembles, from fear, anticipation, the cold, or everything all at once. "Tell me to stop. Tell me, you don't want this. Tell me you will never feel for me as I do for you."

"What do you feel for me?" Curiously, quiet, his voice almost sounds timid.

Voldemort's eyes dart down to his mouth, then back to his eyes. "I'm in love with you."

Harry gasps. "What?"

"I know I shouldn't be. I know it's wrong, but I have loved you since you fought me in that graveyard." Voldemort's eyes don't waver. "You were so young but so fierce, every bit my equal despite your youth. I couldn't help my admiration and lust, no matter that my lust disgusted me because of your youth. As you destroy my horcruxes, my soul returns and these feelings only grow stronger, more vivid. I don't wish to kill you, I will if I must, but I don't want to any longer."

Harry is silent, unsure of what he is supposed to do with the revelation that Voldemort is in love with him. The man has caused so much death and pain. He killed Harry's parents, his godfather, his friends; some directly, others by proxy.

"I don't expect you to return my feelings. I don't expect anything from you." He caresses Harry's face, once again swipes his finger across his lips. "Tell me to stop." He says again. "Tell me to stop, and I will walk away, because if you don't stop me I will do this." One of his hands curl up in Harry's hair, the other travels down and snaps open on of his shirt buttons. "Please tell me to stop, because I want you so bad that I can't handle it, and I have no clue what I will do if you reject me, but if you say nothing I won't force myself on you. I would never hurt you like that. Tell me you don't want this."

"Don't stop." 

The two words resound like thunder in the cold silence of the clearing, and Voldemort shivers, then he leans down to capture Harry's lips with his own. It shouldn't feel so electric, so wonderful. He's been kissed before, but it nothing like this with Cho, or Ginny, or even that one time with Malfoy. Voldemort is not timid in his desires. His kiss is fierce, passionate, and dominating, his tongue sweeping across his lips for permission, as he pulls him up so that Harry's legs are wrapped around his waist. Harry obliges, eager now, fighting for some control as the dark lord kisses him deeply. He pulls back, only to unclasp his velvet cloak and push it to the ground, then Voldemort sets him down on top of the discarded cloak slowly and gently guiding him so that he is laying down on his back with the dark lord over him, and starts to undo Harry's own clothes. Harry shivers, then reaches for his buttons as well. His shirt removed and Voldemort's open to show his chest, Voldemort kisses him again, running his hands across Harry's bare skin. Neither of them is particularly muscular or well built, Harry notices, both too thin and too tall, malnourished skinny and not conventionally attractive. That said, there is something oddly attractive about the dark lord; no matter how fearsome, serpentine, and far too skinny to be healthy as he may be.

"Gods you're beautiful." Voldemort says, his voice wrecked, eyes raking up and down Harry's half naked body with undisguised worship. It makes the boy who lived tremble needily under him to hear him say so. Voldemort sucks and bites his way down from Harry's jawline to his hip bones as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. He pulls Harry's cock from his jeans, and Harry hisses at the touch he has been so desperately needing, nails digging into the Dark lord's back through the soft fabric of his black robes, and his breath hitches as he tries to silence the moans that beg to escape. Voldemort moans above him, eyes dark with lust. "Harry Potter you'll be the death of me."

"Please." Harry begs.

"Say my name." he hisses. Harry starts to say Voldemort, but he's cut off. "Not that one. The one only you are allowed to say."

"T-Tom!" Harry pants and the dark lord hisses in pleasure. "Please, please, I need..." He moans, unsure of what he's asking.

Voldemort leans back and starts to pull Harry's jeans off, then starts to take off his own clothes. For a second he seems to hesitate, his hand grabbing at the small pendant adorned with tiny purple gemstones around his neck, but then he seems to come to a conclusion and he takes it off. As he removes it from his neck, his visage shimmers, then Harry stares at him in shock. No longer is he staring at the snake like monster that he has always seen as Voldemort, though he is just as tall and thin now, he is staring at the elder version of Tom Riddle from the diary. He looks to be in his late twenties, and pale white scars decorate his skin in long slashes. On particular slash, the one that looks raw and new as opposed to the light silvery color of the older healed ones, crosses down the right side of his face, cutting a jagged line through his eye, leaving the one milky pink and the other the same sanguine red as before. Tom looks away from him, and Harry recognizes the shamed self hatred, because it is the same he always feels when his clothes are off. He knows how important this moment is, because he chose to show Harry what he truly looks like, even though Harry would have slept with him as he was. This is a tremendous show of trust.

Harry touches the side of his face so he can look at him. "You're gorgeous." He breathes, not even being the slightest bit untruthful. His fingers trace the long lines, almost like lightning across his pale skin. "What happened?"

"Horcruxes." He admits. He points to each on in turn, his chest, arm, leg, back, thigh, neck, and face, and he names horcruxes as he does. "Diary, ring, locket, cup, diadem, Nagini, you."

Harry stiffens in shock. "I did this to you?" he asks, voice trembling as his fingers trace the scars once more.

Tom shakes his head. "I did this to myself. This is the only one left to heal, the only horcrux not returned to me. It should have, my remorse over killing your parents, hurting you so badly, was true and honest, but that part of my soul is more yours than mine. I can never reclaim that portion of my soul, so like the scar on your forehead, this too will never fade."

"Are you blind?" Harry asks softly.

"Yes. I have no sight in my right eye." Tom stares at him intently. "But enough about these scars. You have no need to feel so guilty."

"But-" Tom kisses him to shut him up.

"Harry," He whispers against his lips, "Do you still want me to continue? Even knowing what I truly look like, knowing I'm a monster no matter what?"

"Yes." Harry gasps as his fingers tangle sweetly in his hair. "But, you're not a monster."

"I am." Tom says, but he pulls Harry so that he is seated in his lap. Neither is wearing any clothes, not any more, and the position is far to intimate after such a soul bearing moment. "I am a monster, but maybe you'll come to love me anyways, regardless of that fact."

Harry has no response for that, and even if he did it is lost as Tom begins to kiss him again. Harry is only minorly disappointed by the loss of the forked tongue, minorly, because the bare skin upon his own is more than worth the loss. He can feel their cocks brushing up against each other, and it is electric and so perfect, and Harry wants more, more, more. He must say that out loud, because the dark lord shifts him in his lap so that he can fondel Harry's ass. He murmurs something in latin, and there is an odd stretching and wetness that causes Harry to flush cherry red despite the fact that he knows he doesn't need to be embarrassed.

Tom lays him back down on the blankets, situating himself between Harry's legs, and the boy gulps. "You ready?" Tom breathes, staring down at him with such an intense look of love that Harry can barely even comprehend it.

"Yes." He answers. "Just..."

"Be gentle." Tom finishes. "That spell I cast will ensure you feel no pain. At worst you'll feel discomfort at first, I am a bit larger than standard, but no pain. I would have loved to take my time with you, but since it's your first time I want you to feel nothing but pleasure."

Harry nods. "Kiss me?"

Tom does, deeply and passionately as always, and Harry cries out as he enters, slowly stretching him, though it is not pain that causes his cry. There is discomfort, as Tom warned there might be, but there is also a feeling of desperation to him. He wants Tom to move, but at the same time he knows he needs to let his body adjust. Tom kisses his neck, biting and sucking marks into his skin. He whispers against his neck as Harry gets used to the feeling of him inside him. "I don't want you to think about who we are and what this means. I just want you to forget the world around us for a little longer. I want to pretend we are just two people, not significant in any way. I want to pretend there's even a chance you could come to love me as I love you."

Harry moans at those words, then he tentatively starts to move a little, rocking his hips and drawing little pleasured noises from the dark lord as he does. "Please." He begs. "Please Tom, I'm ready."

Tom doesn't need to be told twice, and he begins to move, slow gentle thrusts that draw soft pants and moans from Harry as he wraps his legs around the dark lord. Harry curls one of his own hands in Tom's hair, tentative, searching, and pulls lightly. Tom hisses, not in pain, and his hips stutter for a moment. Bolder now, Harry tugs harder, drawing a gasping moan from the older man. "Vicious." He pants, but Harry can tell it is a compliment.

Harry hooks his legs around Tom's and flips them so he's in the dark lord's lap, Tom laying on the cloak. "Harder Tom. I'm not going to break."

The dark lord does as commanded, his thrusts up into Harry faster, harder, deeper, until he hits a spot that makes Harry see stars, arching over with his mouth wide open, his nails digging into Tom's chest. Tom grins, a look of gleeful triumph, and purrs, "Did you like that love?" He does it again and Harry gasps loudly.

Tom thrusts into him, his cock hitting the same spot over and over again, and Harry leans over him unable to hold himself up as the waves of pleasure crest through him. He chants Tom's name, desperate pants intermixed with the word please, until he can no longer hold himself off. His come paints streaks of white across Tom's belly, and the dark lord flips them again, his thrusts becoming erratic as he buries his face in Harry's neck. He bites down as he comes too, and Harry feels both the pain of his teeth breaking skin as well as the warmth of his semen inside him. 

They lay there, panting, just staring at one another with intense eyes, then Tom rolls off of him and pulls him so that they are snuggled side by side. "You'll be the death of me." he groans, wiping Harry's blood from his lips.

"Not if you kill me first." Harry teases.

Tom's face is oddly focused when he speaks next. "Run away with me." He says. "Let's leave this place behind. We could fake our deaths. You would never have to be just the boy who lived, and I would never be Voldemort. I could be just Tom, and you could be just Harry."

Harry stares at him incredulously. "Where would we go?" He asks.

"America." Tom grins. "They were the least affected by the war, especially on the west side. There's a small wizarding community in Portland, Oregon. I don't believe any of them would recognize you."

And maybe it's just the post orgasm bliss talking, but Harry says, "Yeah, sounds like fun. Let's go."


End file.
